


How to Remove Craft Herpes

by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Glitter, Hand Jobs, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Reader-Insert, anon request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 01:13:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17736215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier/pseuds/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier
Summary: Anonymous asked:...I saw a gif set of Jensen trying to get rid of glitter on his hands and of course like the gutter urchin I am my mind immediately went "he hates it so much cuz he doesn't like having sparkly junk after he touches himself" 😂😂😂 There has to be some sort of Dean drabble in there that I would love for you to put your spin on, if you're willing lol....“You can’t put that in me.”  You point at Dean’s groin, just to be clear.“What? It’s not-”“I mean, I don’t think it’d be a big problem - I got a self-cleaning system here - but I don’t wanna find out if it is. It’s called craft herpes for a reason.”“Babe, come on, you know I’ll-”“I don’t need a spangly cooch!”





	How to Remove Craft Herpes

“You can’t put that in me.”  You point at Dean’s groin, just to be clear.

“What? It’s not-”

“I mean, I don’t think it’d be a big problem - I got a self-cleaning system here - but I don’t wanna find out if it is. It’s called craft herpes for a reason.”

“Babe, come on, you know I’ll-”

“I don’t need a spangly cooch!”

“Oh Jesus.  Okay, two things.” Dean takes a little step back, puts his hands on his hips and talks as though his dick isn’t throwing the light from the bedside clock like a disco dong. “One, I’ll wear a condom, so that’s not a thing.  And two, it ain’t that bad.”

“That’s what you been tellin’ yourself?  We could slow dance around that thing.”

“Will you stop it!” You hear him hold his breath. Because is it Not Funny. …Except it’s you and he can’t keep pretending he’s not concerned.  “It’s been three days!” he whispers desperately.

“I know!” And three nights since he spent an afternoon walking around like a surgeon post-scrub because he wouldn’t get glitter on anything, according to Sam.  And Sam was twitching mad about having to do everything for him, up until Dean let-slash-made him drive the car. _“What did you do?”_

Dean deflates, and it’s not so dark you can’t see him hesitate to look down at himself… “I seriously thought I’d gotten most of it off my hands.”

“Sure did.”

He does that wincy glare at you, which you share back because-

“Off onto your dick.”

He deflates into more pouty gazing at his gaudy cock.

“You wouldn’t even make a coffee.  How could you not keep your hands off your dick?”

“Well, you were _away_ ,” he whines, and looks at you like it’s actually your fault.  “It’s one thing to have to audit the storage and have this shit go kablooey in my lap, it’s a whole other thing to have to deal with it blue balls when your girlfriend is off, gallivanting-”

“ _Hey_.”

“ _Saving lives_ ,” he scowls, “across the country.  You being all… competent killer and stuff.”

“Tell you what.” You grab his shoulders and wait for him to haul his head back up and look at you at you before running your hands down to his wrists.  “How about I play competent nurse and get that shit offa you?”

“Yes.  Deal.”

Ten minutes later, you’ve got a nice rich lather on your food-grade gloves and Dean’s standing on a towel beside the shower. He’s still hard, or hard again from being fully starkers before you-fully-clothed.  Being bossed around doesn’t hurt either.

“Okay, I just have to do one thing.” You kneel by his feet to get a good hold of his golden cock, cupping his sparkly balls, and turn to the audience.  “I’d just like that thank my _Mom_!-

“NO!”

“And _God_!”

“No! Oh my fucking-” Dean laughs and wheezes and you look up to see him sparkle like the sun snuck into the room.  “Okay, you get the award for best girlfriend, for sure.”

“Not best prop design?” you ask, standing up again.

“No, that’s me!” He watches you come close, goes all smirky while he gets nudged around by you changing your grip and sliding the soap up and down his dick.  “No, you…” He sighs out his nose.  “You’d get best…” Feels really good. “Best Score. Best screenplay.”

“Well… let’s prove the point huh?” And you don’t say anything else.

The next 15 minutes is Dean, sighing and moaning, one hand grabbing hold of the sink, the other your hip, murmuring quite confirmations that what you’re doing is nice, real nice, and he lets his damp forehead rest on yours while you patiently loosen and wash away every speck of glitter from his junk.  You keep it steady and slow.

“Does this really have to take forever?” he asks.  “Feels like you’ve been doin’ the same thing for an hour.”

“Well, unfortunately for you, you bedazzled yourself with a hard on.” For the third time, you’re on your knees trying to judge the shape of each glint and how natural it is.  “So if you get off now…” Nope, one more wash to go. “…I can’t get to everything in the creases.”  You stand up and quirt more soap into your palm. “So you’re gonna have to tolerate things a little longer.”

Dean’s eyebrows tilt back, like his head, and his fingers squeeze your hip again.  “Okay, just, last time.”  He shifts his feet yet again.  “I’m not gonna last with you slidin’ all this- uh!”

This time you get your fingers around the head, trying to pick up the few bits around the crown.  It’s firm, pointed pressure, and almost uncomfortable after all else.

But you reach under and hold the very base of his cock too, behind his balls, warm and soothing so that he’s got something kinder to focus on.  You’re wondering if a slippery fingertip a little further back wouldn’t go astray either, too, act as a sweet distraction.

“Mm.  Oh, fuck.”  He sucks air through his teeth, frowning through all the heat and sensation between his legs.  “Thought you said you need me to last.”

“You need you to last.”  You dip your working hand into the soapy water and shake off what you think is the last of it.  “Get this done in one visit.  But this is far too entertaining for me to _not_ , you know?”

“No, please.” He breathes in again, as if to restart a clock.  “We can take a break.”

“All done.”

“Wait- really?” He opens his eyes.  What do you mean _done_?

“Kneel down for me?” You give him a quick peck on the lips.  “Be a good patient.”

“O- okay.  My legs are so stiff.”  He talks with his eyes closed again and let you turn him towards the wall, puts a hand to the tiles to guide himself down.

You kneel behind him, hooking your hands into his hips to get him to sit on his heels.  Then you shuck up behind, letting your legs get wet, and sit up enough that your can see over his shoulder and reach down over his arm to take hold of his cock again.  You’ve still got the gloves on, and this time the soap is very generous.

It’s purple and throbbing, and his knees lean against the wall.  He slumps to ease your reach, planting a strong hand beside your hip for some support, and lets his head lay back against you, sighing and humming at your lips on his neck, your teeth on the tendon.

The fingers go everywhere now, pressing lovely low-friction pressure over the tendons, into the corners, across his lower belly, and you reach over so your arm is long, hand facing downward.  That way you can rub your palm all the way from the tip, over his balls, and pull back up again.

Dean fucks upwards into the air, unable to keep from tucking his ass into the feeling, and soon he’s given up so much he’s leaning back even more, you getting under his arm so you’re nearly cradling him across yourself, slipping your grip up and down the shaft in time with his breathing, until the veins on his neck start to show and his lips can’t get any fuller.  With one arm wrapped around your shoulders, he’s long and glorious and sighs _Ah-ah-aha-haa_ as he shudders all over and the cum’s thrown onto his stomach.

And there you hold him, like a romantic marble sculpture of exquisite ecstasy and devoted affection…

“Wake up, dopey.  You weigh a tonne.”

“Jus’ leave me here.”

“Alright.” You tilt him back so he can sit, and start up the shower behind him, getting the temperature nice.  “You want help with this, too?”

Dean cups some water with a hand and splashes away some of the mess.  “Yeah, Imma need you to keep me upright.” He slowly climbs up to standing, grunting at the pins and needles in his legs, and turns around, tugging on your pants.  “Scrubs off.  I got my hands clean for a reason.”  

As soon as you’re nude, he’s kissing you up against the wall, adjusting the spray to keep you both warm, and grinning at the way he makes you gasp with those award-winning fingers.


End file.
